Lila already has half her clothes off and is standing expectantly at the edge of the seep. I pick my way out of the water, and she instantly takes my place. I collect my clothes from the juniper bush and make my way down the little creek, shivering in the breeze. She was right—the sun is edging toward the canyon rim, and the air is cooling quickly. I push through the willow shrubs along the creek until I get to a good flat rock that’s still in full sun, and I settle down onto it, my feet in the creek. I’m not quite ready to leave the water, as little as there may be.
Rat snoots around in the water, pawing at the rocks and then sneezing when he splashes his nose. In the distance, a pack of coyotes takes up an early-evening chorus, a rattling of yips and long, high howls. Rat lifts his head, looking up at the canyon wall.
“You’re a mutt like the rest of us,” I say, rubbing a shred of sacking over my skin. “Don’t belong here, don’t belong there. Who was the coyote? Your ma or your pa? Or do you know at all?”
He looks back at me, one ear still cocked backward at the carefree singing of his half siblings. His name is like most of ours, too—made up. When I found him as a pup, he had mange so fierce he looked like a drowned rat, his tail bald as a whip. Now his coat is thick and coarse and studded with burrs.
I reach out and scratch his ears, his fur sticking to my wet skin. He half closes his eyes lazily.
“You’ve got it the best of us, though,” I say. “At least you can survive on mice and carrion.”
He licks a patch of sweat I missed on my arm. The cool air sweeps across my bare back, stealing away the last of the water from the seep.
Through the bushes comes Rose’s telltale step-drag. I straighten as she approaches, her own sack towel draped over her shoulder.
“Is the seep free?”
“Lila beat you to it.”
She swears mildly, setting her sack down. “So it’ll be a while.”
“Probably.” I dig among my clothes for my precious sliver of soap as she eases herself down on a rock by the creek. As I pour a few handfuls of water over my head, she unfastens the straps on her false leg, sighing as she slides the cuff off her knee.
“Are the new buckles helping?” I ask, rubbing the scrap of soap into the barest lather.
“No. They’re stronger, but now they blister.” She hisses as she rolls back her pant leg, revealing a neat line of welts along her knee. “Don’t tell Sedge.”
I massage the soap into my scalp. “Maybe you need something quilted to line the cuff, like one of those fancy saddle blankets. They sell them in Snaketown.”
“And what will we buy one with? Our good looks?”
“We’ve got the coins from that old man’s purse. There are a couple of silver keys, at least.”
She snorts, dabbing a few of her blisters with creek water. “I’m not wasting a key on a blanket, not when we’re running out of cornmeal and you’re handling your soap like it’s a biscuit hot off the griddle.”
“If it keeps the stupid thing from hurting, Rose . . .”
“No. I’ll get a blanket somewhere else. Use the money on Whit, or Andras.” She pauses for a moment, examining the ragged scar above her knee, the only other remnant of the goring from the out-of-control bull, crazed by branding, that claimed her calf. “Speaking of which, have you . . . noticed anything about Andras?”
I let out a sigh. I’d been wondering if I was going to have to bring up the subject with her. “I noticed he missed the grab on a bucket handle last week. It was sitting there plain as day.”
She nods. “This morning he poured a stream of coffee straight past the cup and onto the ground.”
I dip my head forward and pour another few handfuls of water over it, watching it wash the precious suds downstream. I stay that way, leaning over my knees, my locks hanging down around my face. They form a curtain—I can almost imagine the whole world consists just of this little patch of running water between my feet, clear and cold.
“He needs medicine,” Rose continues. “Something for his eyes, before it’s too late.”
“He needs to get back to Cyprien,” I say. “Back to his family.”
“And how is that supposed to happen? He can’t make that trip. He’d be snapped up by the slavers again, or robbed . . . blind.” The last word trips out almost by accident.
“I’ll take him.”
“And how will you make the trip? I know you can survive on sand fleas and good luck, but he’s just a little kid, and that kind of travel costs money—for food, at the very least, if not lodging and supplies. Our couple of keys would barely get you to Teso’s Ford.”
I take one of my locks and roll it between my palm. The damp hair curls up by my scalp. “I’m working on it. If we save some of the coin we have now, all we need is another good hit or two on the stages.”
She goes quiet for a moment. “So that’s our long-term plan, is it? Just keep turning over stages?”
“What other option is there, Rose?”
“One of us could get a job.”
I twist another lock and then start on the next. “Yeah, taking up space in the town prison. Who’s going to hire us?”
“I believe the Alcoran Senate has expressed interest more than once.”
“I’m not turning myself in to them.”
“I didn’t say you had to. I could.”
I twist my next lock with vigor. “So they can give you a badge and push you back out in the desert to take all the same risks as before, only for their benefit?”
“At least there’d be money,” she shoots back. “There’d be food, and blankets, and medicine. Whit and Andras could be taken care of.”
“In an overcrowded public orphanage, if they’re lucky—more likely prison, just like Voss. The same goes for the rest of us.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“It’s just a different form of slavery!” I yank my next lock a bit too vigorously. “They’ll own you again, only with papers this time.”
“What do you suggest?” she asks sharply. “Holing away out here in Three Lines for all eternity, while we all drop off like flies? The little ones can’t survive like this forever, Lark. We’re playing a dangerous enough game as it is. When you and I found this place four years ago, neither of us thought it was a permanent home, just a place to hide from the rustlers.”
“And then we found the water pocket and turned over our first coach,” I remind her. “And we realized it’s as good a home as we’re ever going to get. I’m not taking the others in to town. I’m not putting them at the mercy of a bunch of lawkeepers who wouldn’t care one scratch if we all went back into the wagons.” I roll another lock. “I’m not letting us all get scattered—you really want them to take little Whit or Andras away?”
“Are you scared about what will happen to them without you, or are you scared about what will happen to you without them?”
“I’m not scared.” I spit the words out and they hang between us. My scalp stings where I overtwisted my hair.
I’m not scared.
I’m terrified.
For all of us.